


Making Up

by Murf1307



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Kitchen Sex, Makeup Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Kelly never can stay angry at his wife for very long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Up

Jack Kelly can’t stay mad at his wife for very long.  The record?  Probably forty minutes.

He’s still angry at her when she hooks her foot around his ankle under the table.  They haven’t spoken in more than half an hour, and before that it had been a positive screaming match.

She wants to cover a strike halfway across the country.  He can’t go with her; he’s caught up in the everyday minutiae of being a professional union leader and looking after the Newsies now that he’s too old to pass for a kid.

He doesn’t want her to go.

But she’s going to go anyway, because she’s Katherine Kelly, and she’s not going to just hang back when there’s a story to be told and people to be helped.

 

Anyway, she hooks her foot around his ankle, and slides it up his calf.  It’s summer and they’re in their apartment, so both their feet are bare.  He tries to concentrate on the sketch he’s working on (it’s of her, of course – even when he’s mad at her, a good part of everything he creates has her for muse or model) but he knows she can tell she’s already winning.

Her foot slides up, and she rests it delicately on his thigh.  She’s not paying him any active attention beyond that, her eyes glued to her book.  She’s somehow actually reading it, and he has no idea how she does it.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t make any outward sign, until the foot against his thigh slides inward, slides up his inseam.  She’s close now, and he’s not sure if she’s going to go and rest her foot against his groin –

And there it is, when his breath hitches, her lips upturning at the corners almost wickedly.

“Incorrigible,” he mutters – he picked that one up from her a while back.  It’s almost a code word now, affectionate frustration laced with desire.

Her smile widens, and she presses with her foot.  He sighs, his anger dying away entirely too fast for his liking, and slides his chair back.  Her foot leaves his lap, and she doesn’t stand.  Instead, she leans back, arching her back a little as she rests her shoulders against the backrest.

She’s going to be the death of him someday, he just knows it.

But he really can’t care right now.  He just moves around the kitchen table and pulls her out of her chair, hands at her waist.  He kisses her, first gently, then with more force.

She responds enthusiastically, her tongue pressing into his mouth.  His hands slide down to her backside, groping her through her skirts, and she presses closer.  It’s a little hot, and his throat dries a little as he realizes that they’ll be able to fix that in a minute.

“Bedroom?” he asks her.

“Here’s fine,” she mumbles back, her mouth drifting down to suck at his neck.

One of the things he loves about her is how bold she is, even like this.  In the year they’ve been married, she’s the one who’s the boldest between them, the one who wants to do everything, and do it over and over, almost every chance they get.

They did “christen” the kitchen when they first got the apartment, but if Katherine wants to make love here, he’ll gladly do it again.

The front door’s locked, the shades are drawn – they won’t be witnessed or interrupted – and he starts to pull at her skirts, which suddenly there seem to be too many of.

She laughs when he complains about it, her hips shimmying a little against him, driving him a little batty.  He growls against her throat, and drops down to his knees in front of her.  “Get on the table,” he says, and she does, hitching her skirts up over her knees.

She’d taken off her stockings almost as soon as she’d gotten home from work, and god, her bare legs are maddening.  He kisses his way up one of them, and noses between her thighs.

Apparently her underwear had gone with the stockings.

“You planned this,” he growls, rumbling against her thigh, and she laughs a little breathlessly, laying down on the table now.  “Gonna kill me, angel.”

“You’ll die happy, I’m sure,” she says, and it’s a little softer and more serious than he wants to deal with right now, so he dives in, pressing his face against her sex.  He licks at her growing wetness and sucks at her clit.

He loves doing this for her, loves focusing on just her and her pleasure, even as his trousers get almost too tight to bear, and he hums against her as he presses a hand against his own hardness to alleviate some of the immediacy of his need.

He gets her off twice with his mouth before he even thinks about his own pleasure.  She’s laid out, breathing heavy, on the table, and he starts to unbutton the front of her dress.  She kisses him when he leans to her mouth, licking inside and tasting herself. 

She helps him get her bodice undone, her dress just sort of bunched around her middle now, and he touches her breasts gently, almost reverently – she’s always oversensitive after a good glowing orgasm, and he doesn’t want to push too far.  She moans a little, but it’s not pain; it’s almost impatience, actually, and he isn’t sure what to do with that except press inside her.

He makes love to her as gently as he can, until she starts shifting her hips in time with his, challenge in her eyes.  He smirks back at her, and they kiss almost brutally. 

When he finally gets off, she’s right there with him, and they moan into each others’ mouths.

Jack Kelly can never stay mad at his wife for very long. 


End file.
